


Not Well for a Spell

by Lady_Lala



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald Spoilers, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lala/pseuds/Lady_Lala
Summary: Hello 😀. Newt Scamander here. This is a short story. But it's not really about me. No, It's about my amazingly caring and loving friends. And by friends I mean my beasts. My fantastic beasts. It's a story of how our roles were switched for a short time. How the caretaker became cared for. In all honesty, they saved my life. And I'm forever in their debt for it. Now it's not a flattering story on my part, seeing as I'm blundering around like an idiot for most of it, but I'm sharing it anyway. Please don't judge too harshly. I wasn't myself when this happened but it's no excuse for some of the things I said to sweet sweet Picket who I love dearly. I owe everything to my creatures and I wouldn't be here if it weren't for them. So please read and enjoy!
Relationships: Newt Scamander & Newt Scamander's Niffler, Pickett the Bowtruckle & Newt Scamander, Tina Goldstein & Newt Scamander, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind this is an Alternate Reality so not all the events and character appearances will be completely in sync with what you're used to. Not sure if this happens before or after Crimes of Grindlewald. it's a bit cringy and overdramatic, but hey, it's fluff. Enjoy!

Picket knew something was up when Newt nearly crushed the poor Bowtruckle after missing a step on his way down the suitcases and tumbling down the latter, ending up sprawled at the bottom of the small room.   
"So sorry, Pick," Newt apologized shakily to the small Bowtruckle who'd been hiding away in his pocket. "you all right?"   
Pick would've jabbed Newt in the hand if the poor man hadn't looked so ill.   
He was quite pale, and his hands trembled a bit as he gently held Picket. So instead of the usual poke, Pick settled for crossing his arms and moodily sticking his nose up, though he peered at Newt from the side, a little concerned for his friend.   
Scamander might not be the most coordinated human Picket knew, but in all the years' Newt had had that case, he'd never once missed a step climbing down to the small pantry.   
Still, Picket supposed anyone could possibly miss a step once in their lives, and it could just be a case of the old Port-Key Sickness (a common condition similar to motion sickness that is brought on by port key use) something that had ailed Newt when he was younger.   
Content with Picket's response, Newt tucked the little leaf man back into his pocket, but Picket promptly squirmed out as the pocket had grown much too warm with Newt's body heat. Newt apparently felt the same as he shrugged off the heavy coat and draped it over the rail on his way out into the makeshift sanctuary. The air was cool, and Picket stood atop Newt's shoulder, enjoying the refreshing, magical breeze, only to stumble and nearly fall, as the wizard apparently changed his mind and walked quickly back and threw his coat around his broad shoulders.   
Panting, Picket scrambled up Newt's shirt and clung to Newt's ear then gave the man a jab on the neck for his trouble. Newt's only reaction to the sharp stab of pain was to tilt his head tersely to one side, then he was off to work.


	2. Moving Day

Today was moving day. The day Newt would transfer the creatures from his case back to his home in London where they could complete their recovery. He'd had excellent success releasing the majestic and powerful Thunderbird, Frank, into the stormy sky of new york and had received the fantastic news that his friend had indeed made it to Arizona, not a month before. He'd made a few other stops on his way back to London, releasing other fully recovered beasts into the wild. Still, not all his creatures were quite ready for the wold again, including, of course, the Bowtruckles who refused to leave Pick behind who refused to leave Newt's side. So they, along with the other creatures in recovery, will be moved back upstairs to Newt's own home except for a few species which are simply too large to fit and, of course, those whose diets include certain other species.   
Newt and Bunty, his assistant, had gathered the creatures into their cages the night before, and all that was left was to move them upstairs and let them out onto the property. Unfortunately, while Newt had been busy tending to a young Acromantula egg he'd found in Germany, Bunty attempted to feed the resident Kelpi upstairs and got nipped quite severely. Newt had tried to treat the wound himself but eventually decided to take a port key to St. Mungo's. It had been quite late at night, and Newt hadn't been able to take the port key home until early that morning. He felt horrible for leaving his creatures in cages all night, even if the cages had been bewitched to be bigger and more comfortable on the inside than one might expect. The creatures, of course, were perfectly fine and quite content, but that didn't stop Newt from hurrying (though it looked more like stumbling to Pick) around and opening each cage to call, "Don't worry, mummy's here. So sorry!" down to whoever was occupying said cage. Picket was growing increasingly worried as Newt stumbled around, taking off then putting back on his coat every two minutes and shuffling over to the thermostat every five minutes to tap the small device with his wand to change the temperature. However, Newt couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted the whole place to be freezing cold or burning hot. After about the fifth thermostat change to freezing cold, the thermostat seemed to have mysteriously vanished, though Pick could've sworn he saw something furry and black scuttle away. But Newt's apparent issue of regulating body heat wasn't the only symptom. Newt would shakily reach down to grasp a cage but miss the handle by a foot, grabbing air instead, and skipping steps or losing his balance quite often. These were all tell-tail signs of Port-Key sickness, but quite a lot more extreme. At one point, Newt got so frustrated he couldn't grab a relatively small cage that the very same Niffler, who was usually making things very difficult for Newt to get his hands on, came out from wherever he'd been hiding and put the cage in Newts hand for him. Newt gave an exasperated sigh, thanked the Niffler, and then tried to pet the furry creature only to end up stroking the table. If Newt could've seen straight, he would've sworn the small creature rolled his eyes as it squirmed his head under Newt's hand to receive the cuddles. Picket decided he had had enough and scurried down onto the back of Newt's hand, then jumped from the hand to the cage to the ground, and shoed the Niffler away.   
"Now Picket, that wasn't very nice, now was it? Come on, tell me what's the matter." Newt said softly.  
Picket pointed at him as though the problem should be obvious.  
"Oh. I had a long night, that's all. Mumy's fine, Pick." Newt assured his friend reaching with his other hand to pick the stick man up. Pick put his hands on his hips as Newt's hand was about a foot away. The Niffler scurried back and pushed Newt's hand closer to where Picket actually stood.   
"Alright, maybe I'm a bit under the weather. I used an old port key and you know I don't do well using them in the morning. But I'll be fine, I promise."   
Pick shook his head but climbed back onto newts hand anyway. A terrible decision because Newt made straight (well, straight as he could) for the Bowtruckle tree. Picket immediately started chirping in protest, but Newt kept walking.  
"Com now, Pick," he pleaded, holding his hand to his shoulder where Picket clung desperately, "Please? You're right that I'm not myself today and I don't want to accidentally drop you while I'm working."  
Pick shook his head hard, but before he knew it, that cursed Niffler had picked him up and put him on the tree. Pick chirped franticly as the other Bowtruckles slowly came out to greet him, dreading the imminent interaction. Still, Newt could only look at him sympathetically as if he knew exactly how the little guy felt.  
"Sorry Pick, but I need to get everyone upstairs. I don't want you to get hurt. Take care of him for me, will you?" Newt asked the other Bowtruckles softly. They all gave the nod, and Newt shambled off to the cages. The Niffler gave the tiny Bowtruckle a little pat then scurried off after Newt. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid any confusion I have decided to call our favorite Niffler Midas (after the Greek legend of King Midas who acquired the gold touch) Mercury (after the Roman god of thieves). Though Newt will refer to him as Murry.

Little Picket wasn't the only creature to be worried about Newt. Midas Mercury was getting a bit concerned for their friend as well. As the day wore on, the little Nifller was continually having to push Newt's hand toward whatever object he was trying to pick up or having to put smaller items directly in his friend's hand. Newt was getting paler by the minute and was sweating profusely, his hands shaking whenever he grasped something.   
"Thank you, Murry." Newt said for about the fiftieth time as the little Niffler redirected his trembling hand once more, "It's just a bit of Port-Key sickness. It'll be over in a spell, don't worry."   
"Murry," as Newt called him, shook his head in exasperation as Newt hefted the large cage and shuffled off to the pantry. The little Nifler couldn't help but hold his breath and count the minute's Newt was gone. Still, the minutes were steadily growing longer, and Murry was getting closer and closer to scurrying after the young wizard when finally Newt reappeared, pale and panting.   
"It's alright Murry, mummy's alright," Newt reassured his little helper when Murry put his paws on Newt's knee after he'd sunk down by a cage to catch his breath.   
"We're almost done. See?"   
They weren't really. Yes, only a few boxes left to haul up the latter and release the occupants, but there was still much to be done at such a place. Newt got shakily to his feet once more and opened the lid to the cage hed been sitting by.   
"Dougal," he called down, "Dougal, I'm going to move your box now, alright?"   
There really wasn't any need to tell the creatures he was about to move them, as the cages occupied an entirely different dimension (much like Newt's briefcase), so whoever was inside wouldn't be knocked around. But Newt liked to check that everything was in its place. Which in Dougal's case was always interesting.   
"Dougal? where are you?"   
Dougal, the Demiguise faded into existence and pleasantly peered up at Newt. "Ah, there you are. Hello."  
Suddenly Dougal's large brown eyes turned electric blue, and Newt tilted his head to one side.   
"What do you see Dougal?"   
In response, Dougal crawled over to a corner of the room, selected a large cushion, and began dragging it over to where Newt was peering down.   
"What's going to-"  
Abruptly, Newt's eyes glazed over, and he swooned to one side, lost his balance, and fell headfirst into the Demiguise's cage. 


	4. Chapter 4

Murry threw his paws to either side of his head, and his snout fell open in surprise, though in reality, you didn't need to see the future to have foreseen the poor man passing out eventually. Murry almost jumped in after his friend but hesitated when he heard the desperate chirps of Picket from across the room. The Niffler rolled his eyes and grudgingly ran over to the tree, and stuffing the Bowtuckle into his pouch, he ran and jumped into the cage. Newt had landed squarely on the cushion that Dougal had provided for his friend's imminent fall. Murry hurried over, pulling a gasping picket from his pouch. The little Bowtruckle squirmed free of Murry and gently poked Newt's clammy cheek. Nothing happened. Climbing up Newt's pale face, Picket proceeded to gently peel an eyelid back to reveal a red-rimmed eye that lulled lazily back. A leathery hand softly shooed Picket away, and Dougal the Demiguise reappeared. Dougal's huge blue eyes peered at Newt for a moment, then he slowly set to work, gently placing his friend in a more comfortable position. Picket did his best to help by arranging the fingers, and Murry made himself busy pocketing as many shiny nicknacks as he could find among the many shelves of who-knows-whats that Dougal had collected. After they'd done all they could to make their friend comfortable, Dougal gently sat down and, crossing his legs, watched patiently as Newt slept peacefully... for now. Something needed to be done, they knew, but what? Newt was sleeping for the moment, which they supposed was a good thing. The man certainly needed rest, but what about the other creatures? While Dougal and Picket both pondered on what to do next, Murry dragged himself out of the cage, his pouch loaded with stollen goodies, and crawled to his own little hideaway, dumping the contraband into a cubby. He was about to start arranging his new trinkets when he heard Pickets urgent chirps for the second time in as many hours. Murry groaned. Could a Niffler never catch a break around here? After one (or two) longing glances at his waiting treasure, Murry hopped down and ran back to the cage, where he found a heartbreaking sight. Newt no longer slept as restfully as when Murry had left him. Now his lanky legs kicked about, and his long arms flailed as Dougal, now invisible, did his best to suppress the spasms with a cushion. Unfortunately, this placed the Demiguise right in the line of fire, and Murry grimaced as a foot glanced Dougal right across the cheek. Dougal stumbled away, flickering in and out of view in shock, and sat down against one wall. Murry ran over to his friend and gently pushed Dougal's hand away from where he'd been kicked. The blow hadn't drawn blood, but it would undoubtedly leave a good-sized shinner. Murry looked around and spotted an old hanky. He snatched it up and scurried out of the cage, returning with the cloth dampened. Dougal flinched when the cool material touched the now swollen and bruising cheek. Still, after a moment, he settled down, and so did Newt. The poor man had apparently run out of energy and was now breathing shakily, shivering quite violently and sweating profusely. Not at all good. Something had to be done, and it had to be done now.


End file.
